


i'll be your slaughterhouse

by falloutgirl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: Choking, Daddy Kink, M/M, gross love confessions bc hey! i know who i am, mentions of unrequited bruce/dick and unrequited jay/dick, uh......, well this is just everything i am at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8319862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutgirl/pseuds/falloutgirl
Summary: Jason wonders when he traded leotards for lead, wonders when the smell of gunpowder became more like home than baking cookies or early Saturday morning training sessions.Home.The word tastes foreign on Jason’s tongue. Home was for a boy who died.





	

**Author's Note:**

> haha....so.....i wrote this...instead of doing practically anything else......drag me... as far as the continuity i've lowkey based this off of the established dceu (i wrote bruce with ben affleck in mind) but pick any timeline post redhood you fancy, i think it'll work fine
> 
> title comes from "wishbone" by richard siken because i'm easily predictable... in any case, enjoy!

The Red Hood stands on a rooftop in Gotham. Typical, really, Jason thinks, that he should be out here on a rooftop, waiting, instead of out there patrolling. He runs his gloved hand over the gun attached to his hip, and the feeling is soothing. Jason wonders when he traded leotards for lead, wonders when the smell of gunpowder became more like home than baking cookies or early Saturday morning training sessions.

 _Home_.

The word tastes foreign on Jason’s tongue. Home was for a boy who died.

The wind whips against his leather jacket and he hears an almost imperceptible crunch of gravel behind him.

“Bruce,” he says, but doesn’t turn around.

The Batman doesn’t respond, as usual, but his presence is like noose caught tight around Jason’s neck. The Batman is everywhere, in every part of his body, every reach of his psyche.

Sometimes, Jason hates the Batman.

“Bats,” he says this time, and gets a grunt in reply. Jason turns around to face Bruce, and it’s funny how they’re almost the same height. Funny how Bruce looms over him like a dark shadow, like the worst extension of himself come to life. Funny how in his worst moments, Jason just misses –

“Jason,” Bruce says, and his voice is off by two keys. Jason freezes up. They don’t do this. They don’t put emotion into these meetings. It’s supposed to be uniform. And Bruce is –

“Jason,” Bruce says again, and it’s _him._ It’s not Batman, it’s not Brucie, and Jason… Jason doesn’t know what to think.

Bruce is changing the rules.

“Don’t –”

Bruce grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him closer, now their chests are touching. Jason can feel the press of the Kevlar against him, can feel the strength of the touch behind the arms that hold him in place. He _shivers._ He’s not supposed to want this.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Bruce says, “not after last time.”

Jason remembers the soft hands, remembers the quiet emotion, remembers how at _peace_ he felt wrapped up in Bruce’s arms that night, how it was too much, too fast, too _soon_ –

Jason remembers running away. And it wasn’t the first time.

“I’m here,” Jason breathes, but it comes out choked. His body warming up from being so close to Bruce’s warmth.

Sometimes Jason wonders why Bruce hasn’t given up yet. Sometimes he thinks Bruce should.

Bruce studies him for a moment, mouth so close to Jason’s, before pushing him back. “Follow me,” Bruce says, and Jason feels his body squirm. It’s Bruce’s voice that gets him, and it’s Bruce’s voice that Jason hates.

A world passes by as Jason follows Bruce back to the Manor, his body on autopilot, his mind swarming like bees in a nest, his soul hungry for something – something more than what he can give.

Jason studies Bruce as they race across rooftops, as they repel and jump off high buildings, and for a split second it dawns on him. Why he’s here. Why he always fucking comes back. And Jason wants to hit someone, mainly Bruce, wants to bloody his fists against a warm body and maybe, if he’s lucky, knock himself out in the process.

But Gotham is quiet tonight. Even the birds don’t sing. The wind whistles her tune and Jason can’t stop shivering.

They arrive at the Manor minutes later, and Jason is still on edge. His hands shake as he runs his fingers over his gun, but even that is not enough to make him stop. He knows what he wants. He knows what he needs.

And he hates _needing_ it from Bruce, but –

A memory of those hands on his body stops Jason dead in his tracks. The urge to hurt Bruce rises up inside him again. They’re in the Batcave now, and Bruce hasn’t said anything the entire time. He pulls his cowl off and Jason studies his face, watches his hair fall across his forehead and stick up in all directions, his cheeks pink from the exertion of finding Jason and bringing him back ho –

 _Not home,_ Jason reminds himself, _never home. those are dangerous thoughts to have_.

“Clothes off,” Bruce says. And it’s nonchalant, like they’re talking about crime over dinner. Well, not dinner. Because Jason would never do dinner with Bruce. And it’s not as if he’s ever thought of it. Because that would be _pathetic._

“No,” Jason grumbles, and he moves to punch Bruce in the face, and it’s so telling that he’d try to punch him instead of shoot him, and that just makes him more angry, more frustrated, that the Batman’s politics can never leave him, that Bruce will always fucking influence him – _there’s a fucking gun on your hip what are you doing_ , he says to himself –

Bruce has him pinned against the floor.

His big hand is closed tightly around Jason’s fist, his body a warm weight on Jason’s body. And he hates himself for how good it feels, how badly he doesn’t want Bruce to leave him.

How he doesn’t think he could take this at face value and be _fine._ Jason has too much riding on these moments, too much stability hinged on Bruce fucking him every other goddamn fortnight.

In his worst moments, Jason doesn’t want this to end.

He pushes Bruce off him and stands up, rolls his hand to release the tension in his wrist.

Let me go, old man,” Jason says, brushing the invisible dirt off his pants. He doesn’t look Bruce in the eyes.

“Jason,” Bruce says, and it’s in that fucking voice again, that fucking voice that overwhelms him, and it’s too much, too soon, Jason _can’t do this_ –

“Look at me, Jason,” Bruce says and he puts his hands on Jason’s shoulders. Jason studies Bruce, and notices the top half of the Batsuit is off, wonders when he did that. “We don’t have to –“

“No,” Jason bites out, and shrugs out of Bruce’s grip. He steps away from him, his eyes wandering, and he realizes he still has the damn domino mask on. He takes it off and tosses it down, and glances over to see Bruce giving him a disapproving look. Jason revels in it.

“Why don’t we –” Bruce starts but Jason cuts him off.

“You ever fucked the replacement?” His eyes burn. He doesn’t want to know what Bruce’s answer is.

“No,” Bruce says. There’s something there, hiding in those words, but Jason doesn’t want to know.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I bet you’ve fucked him real good, haven’t you? I bet he loved it. I bet that punk just _squirmed_ underneath –“

“I have never fucked Tim, Jason.”

Silence.

And maybe it’s hearing Bruce use vulgarity, or maybe it’s the tone of his voice, but Jason turns around and he. He _believes_ Bruce.

And isn’t that realization so dangerous in and of itself. That all Bruce ever need do is look at Jason like – like Jason’s his whole fucking world, and everything else around him crashes down and implodes in a puff of smoke. That all Jason’s ever wanted was to be the center of Bruce’s universe.

And Jason steps closer, quick as lightning, gets right up in Bruce’s space, holds his face in between his hands. Jason could crush Bruce’s skull, he thinks, he could break Bruce’s jaw just like this.

And the worst thing is that Bruce would _let him_. Bruce’s body holds no tension, betrays no fear.

“What about Grayson?” Jason asks, his eyes never moving from Bruce’s. He stares into those hazel eyes, long enough that he feels like he’s swimming in amber, like he’s being melted and frozen in place.

“He – he wanted to,” Bruce says, and Jason’s grip gets tighter, “but I could never. I didn’t – He wasn’t… _it_ for me.” The words come out as a croak, like Jason has ripped them from Bruce’s throat. Like it was the last thing Bruce wanted to do, to admit to the vast depth of _something_ he holds for Jason. Like he carries the memorial of Jason’s death inside him, like it’s a cavern Bruce could never fill.

Love for a boy who died is a dangerous thing.

Jason remembers Dick, remembers never being able to live up to the first Boy Wonder, remembers Dick playing with his hair, calling him _little wing_ , blushing every time Dick so much as looked at him. And now he realizes why Dick could never… want him that way.

Jason stares at Bruce, at the man who shaped them all, and realizes that there was never any way he could overshadow Bruce. That for Dick, Bruce must’ve been _it._ And Jason never stood a chance.

“I believe you,” Jason breathes out against Bruce’s mouth. “I – I believe you.”

Bruce’s arms encircle around Jason’s waist, holding him close, he breathes against Jason’s neck.

“Th – thank you.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said ‘thank you’, old man,” Jason smirks, and he feels Bruce’s lips brush against his neck.

“Let’s go upstairs, to our room.”

Jason feels his heart hammer at the word _our_ but he ignores it. Even if this is the closest Bruce will ever get to saying it… Jason still knows.

That in some ways, he will never be enough.

But right now, this, Bruce’s hands on him, Bruce leading him up the stairs, Bruce stroking the back of his neck, pushing him backwards onto the big, king sized, bed –

This is enough. And for right now, Jason will satiate the hunger that burns inside him by doing the one thing he wishes he didn’t have to, by loving the one man who has and will always ruin him.

“I want you inside me,” Jason exhales, back falling against the mattress. He kicks his shoes off and takes off his shirt, discarding somewhere in the darkness of Bruce’s room. Only the moonlight through the all glass window provides any lighting, and Bruce’s figure is illuminated by the glow. He looks ethereal, Jason thinks, _and so out of my reach._

Bruce is still dressed half in the Batsuit, but it doesn’t seem like he cares, as he nonchalantly takes it off piece by piece. Jason’s eyes roam his body and stay stuck on his chest, eyes following the slashes and cuts of old knife scars, until his eyes settle on the mangled patch of flesh near Bruce’s left shoulder. Jason shivers. He knows what that scar is – knows that it’s a reminder of burnt flesh, a reminder of past lives, a reminder of a boy with dreams, a _boy who died_ –

“Look at me,” Bruce says, and Jason follows suit. Bruce is fully naked now, except for a pair of tight black boxers. It really leaves _nothing_ to the imagination.

“God,” Jason says.

“My name is Bruce,” Bruce smirks. He crawls over Jason, just barely letting his body weight press Jason down.

“Ha ha,” Jason says, “are you done with the dad jokes, yet?”

“I’m sure I’ve got a few more I can think of,” Bruce runs his right hand down Jason’s chest, fingers gentle over the autopsy scar. Jason hates it, hates that it’s a visceral reminder that he _died_ , hates that every day he has to look into a mirror and see the proof, see that he doesn’t really belong any more –

Bruce runs his tongue over the scar and Jason’s skin lights on fire.

He’s so gentle that it _hurts._ He’s so gentle that Jason doesn’t know what to do anymore. He liked it better when he and Bruce fought, liked it when they threw punches instead of kisses, he liked it better when Bruce was angry at him.

But Jason won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and he won’t deny that in some sick, fucked up way, this is everything he has ever wanted.

To _be_ wanted.

“Take your pants off,” Bruce says, and Jason feels his face heat up with how _strong_ Bruce’s voice is, moves his body so quickly underneath Bruce’s and gets his pants off in record time.

“Move up and put your hands above your head.”

Jason scrambles to comply as Bruce gets off the bed and moves to get lube out of the bedside drawer. His body is thrumming with want, as he watches Bruce walk back over to him. It’s as if he’s walking on water, as if he’s being suspended on air, Bruce comes back into Jason’s atmosphere and it’s like a warm bath, it’s like being wrapped up in a blanket on a snow day, it’s like, it’s like –

_Coming home._

Jason gulps. This is… this is –

“Tell me what you want and I’ll take care of you,” Bruce traces Jason’s scar again, his hands almost reverent.

Bruce puts his mouth against Jason’s chest, and gently sucks bruises into his skin. His hand continues to trace Jason’s scar, and for a moment Jason realizes… he could kill Bruce if he wanted to. From this position, he could wrap his hands around the Batman’s head and snap his neck, just like every other person’s he’s killed. Like every other man who’s ever wronged him.

Suddenly, orchestrating a whole plot, to kidnap Joker, to get Bruce one on one with him, to _force_ Bruce to choose him, seems so irrelevant. When this – Bruce holding him down, Bruce’s body so fiery and so close to his –

This is Bruce at his most vulnerable.

And Jason.

Jason gets to _see._

That thought alone is enough to make his cock ache in his shorts, enough for him to move a hand to try and press down –

Bruce grabs his wrist. “No.” Jason shivers.

“Tell me what you want,” Bruce says again, letting Jason’s hand go.

“I – I want you to fuck me,” Jason leans up into Bruce’s touch, but Bruce pushes him back down.

“Beg.” He smirks.

Jason turns his head, and the game is on. He wants to play, he wants to make Bruce work for it.

But he feels wound so tightly, he feels like a coiled up spring, Jason thinks he’s so close to losing his mind with just how badly he _needs_.

“Please, please fuck me,” he says. Bruce’s eye widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting Jason to bend so easily. But then again, Jason’s realized in such a short amount of time, there really isn’t much he wouldn’t do for Bruce right now.

“I want your big – fuck – put your cock inside me,” Jason wraps his legs around Bruce’s back and pulls their hips together. The fabric of their boxers is in the way, but Jason hisses at the pressure.

“I want you inside me, Bruce, fuck, please – please just –“

“I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘please’ this many times in a row.”

“Fuck – ugh – fuck you,” Jason grunts, as Bruce pulls off both of their boxers. Their cocks touch and lightning strikes Jason’s skin. He wants to be filled up so badly, he wants, wants, wants.

“Keep begging,” Bruce says, and Jason’s so gone that he lets himself babble, lets his mouth run at fifty miles an hour, uncaring of what gross, sentimental garbage might be spewing from his lips. Regret is for later, he thinks. There’s nothing to regret right now.

“Hit me,” Jason breathes out at the end of his monologue, “I want you to hit me.”

Bruce rolls him over onto his stomach, and Jason breathes in Bruce’s scent. It’s on the sheets, on the pillows. He inhales and exhales. Hoping the mint, musk, and pine of Bruce’s cologne will envelope him all. Bruce’s hands caress his ass and run up his spine.

“Count off,” He says, hands still on Jason’s ass. “I think… fifteen sounds good. Don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” Jason turns his head and smirks at Bruce.

“Jason…”

“Yes… _daddy?_ ” Jason bites his lip. He loves this. He loves pushing Bruce’s buttons, loves the way his face scrunches up in disapproval, before that brow smooths out and he’s as impassive as ever.

“Fine,” Bruce intones, nails scraping against Jason’s skin. “I think twenty sounds better anyway. Count every single one.”

Bruce’s hand lands swiftly on Jason’s left ass cheek, and Jason gasps.

“Count,” Bruce demands.

“One,” Jason breathes, fists clenching the bedsheets.

Bruce spanks him again, this time just a little bit harder, and on the other cheek.

“Two,” Jason groans. His cock aches between his body and the mattress, but he knows that touching himself would mean more of Bruce’s antics. And Jason just wants to be fucked so badly. He continues counting off, each hit harder than the last, the pain sending him into a frenzy of lust, his skin warm and sensitive to the touch.

A hit lands on the backs of his upper thighs, making him shout.

“Fifteen,” Jason croaks, his body needing release. Bruce hits him again and again, and the need for Bruce to be inside him increases exponentially. Bruce’s strong hands rub down Jason’s ass, pressing hard on the hot, red skin, as he prepares for the final one.

It stings, much harder than the rest, and Jason hopes that it leaves a bruise. Hopes that when he looks into the mirror tomorrow, there will be a Bruce shaped handprint still there.

Jason doesn’t want to forget.

“Twenty,” he says, and Bruce kisses down Jason’s spine before gently rolling him over.

“You’re so good to me,” Bruce says and he presses his mouth at the junction of Jason’s neck and shoulder, sucking a deep bruise into the skin there.

“Mark me up,” Jason says without thinking, the words escaping his pleasure addled mind. Bruce stops and looks at him, his eyes fixated on Jason’s. He doesn’t budge, and Jason once again feels like he’s been frozen in place.

“Mark me,” he says again, this time more confidently. “I want to remember you tomorrow.”

Bruce bites Jason’s neck and Jason lets out a whine, “Hope you own a scarf, boy.”

Jason’s toes curl at the nickname, as Bruce makes his way down Jason’s chest, biting and sucking as he goes. He leaves a dark bruise right over Jason’s heart, and Jason doesn’t have time to try and figure out what that means. Bruce’s hands skate softly over his scar again, a feather light touch compared to his bruising bites that litter the rest of Jason’s torso. Bruce lifts Jason’s hips up and tucks a pillow underneath, he grabs the bottle of lube and slowly coats his fingers with it, warming it up as he goes.

Jason vibrates with the need to have those fingers inside him.

“Hurry up, old man,” Jason says, and he’s so impatient for it, he’s so greedy for Bruce’s affection, his body, for whatever Bruce is willing to give him.

“Don’t rush me,” Bruce chides, his hand sneaking behind Jason to pinch the sensitive skin of his ass, the residual pain of the hits still there. Bruce teases Jason’s hole, feather light touches, and Jason can’t stop gasping.

“Oh – oh my god, will you just fucking –“

Bruce pushes two fingers inside Jason and Jason inhales at the intrusion. It burns slightly, as it always does at first, and Jason isn’t going to lie to himself and pretend he’s fucking anyone else when he’s not fucking Bruce.

Because no one – no one could compare. And Jason would never even try to find someone who would.

Bruce opens him up with vigor, his fingers deftly moving inside Jason, spreading him open and preparing him. Jason spreads his legs wider across the bed, his arms lying lazily at his side. He stares up at Bruce, a hunger in his eyes and in his veins. Bruce switches to three fingers and Jason groans.

“Almost done, babe,” Bruce says, and he lifts Jason’s legs over his shoulder. Bruce removes his fingers and Jason whines at the loss, too gone to care how pathetic he sounds. Bruce pushes in slowly, his hands running down Jason’s side as he does so.

It’s the tenderness that kills him. Jason shivers until Bruce is all the way in, and throws his hands around Bruce’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s sloppy, and half out of breath, Jason chasing after Bruce’s mouth like a man caught in the desert looking for an oasis. He bites Bruce’s lip, hard enough to taste the tang of blood, but Bruce doesn’t so much as wince. He brackets his arms on the bed on either side of Jason’s arms, and starts to move.

He’s _slow._ So slow, so soft, so tender –

Jason wants to scream. He wants Bruce to hurt him, he wants Bruce to fuck him hard enough to leave marks, fuck him hard enough so that Jason will remember this tomorrow, fuck him hard enough so that Jason doesn’t need to think about what this tenderness _means_. So that he doesn’t need to fucking evaluate what Bruce being _soft_ might mean – like it’s a can of worms Jason has already left ajar and is too scared to close or open. Like it’s going to contain the answer to his greatest question and worst fear.

Like Jason is somehow the most important thing in Bruce’s life – not just in this bubble of time and space, not just with the lights off and the bed covers pulled back – but that maybe. That maybe –

For Bruce, Jason might be _it._

And that thought scares him so much, suffocates him so hard he can’t breathe, like he’s back in the coffin, digging and clawing nail by nail out of the dirt, out of his fucking grave, just begging, begging, begging, to see Bruce – just to find Bruce one more _time –_

“Fuck me harder,” Jason gasps, his nails scraping down Bruce’s back hard. He hopes he leaves marks. He hopes he draws blood. He hopes, hopes, hopes.

In a way, he doesn’t want Bruce to forget, either.

“Harder, harder, harder,” Jason begs, and he wraps his legs around Bruce’s waist and pulls him in, locks him in place.

Bruce runs his lips over Jason’s throat. He kisses his jaw softly.

“No,” Bruce says. “I’m gonna fuck you like this,” and he rolls his hips, “I want to feel every part of you, Jason. I want to be in you.” Jason’s legs slacken and Bruce continues moving freely.

He breathes in Jason’s scent deeply, “You were my life,” Bruce mumbles.

But Jason can hear it.

And he feels… bamboozled in a way. That Bruce could get him like this. That Bruce could reach him at his most vulnerable, that this entire time, Jason thought only Bruce was allowing him to see. But Jason was letting Bruce see, too.

The worst, most ugly parts of him that come to life in the dark, the shadows that haunt his every step, the body count that he knows will continue to rise.

The morals that Red Hood and Batman oppose on – the rules that Jason will always break.

That Jason will always kill.

And Bruce still wants him anyway. Bruce still lets him see the Batman at his weakest. And in turn –

Red Hood has done the same.

“Fuck,” he says, and it’s like the lightbulb just went off inside his head, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bruce stops his movements and looks at Jason. “Are you okay?”

And it’s so _tender_. So achingly, disgustingly, tender. Jason’s heart swells four sizes, his throat seizes up, and he waits for the fight response to kick in, he waits for the paranoia to wash over him, the part where he pushes Bruce off of him and never returns.

Except the feelings of uneasiness never come. Bruce’s hands on his body still radiate warmth, Bruce’s eyes on his face still reflect concern, and Bruce’s warm weight on his chest is the most at home Jason has ever felt.

He shakes himself out of his reverie, and thrusts back against Bruce’s cock. “Getting tired, old man?”

Bruce smirks, “Not a chance.”

He continues fucking Jason slowly again, building up to it, before he goes faster and harder. He braces his hands on Jason’s shoulders as his hips snap up, Jason’s legs thrown over Bruce’s shoulders to give him better leverage.

“Fuck, Bruce – _nggg_ ,” Jason groans, “harder, harder.”

“You feel so good,” Bruce says, and it doesn’t even sound like he’s winded. Jason hates him. “So tight around me, so _hot_. Bet you don’t fuck anyone else, huh? You only open up for _me._ ”

And Jason wants to cut out a comeback, but Bruce’s gravelly voice goes straight to Jason’s cock, and all Jason can do is vehemently nod in agreement.

“No one else,” he grunts out, and maybe two weeks ago, during the last time they did this, Jason would’ve fought tooth and nail to keep that to himself, but right now – it doesn’t seem like it matters. Who cares if Bruce knows Jason’s not fucked anyone else in the last three months? Who cares if Bruce thinks that’s pathetic? Jason feels freer, lighter. His insides are on fire with how much it _burns_ to want this man.

“Good,” Bruce says, fucking Jason even harder, “Good boy.” He keeps his pace brutal, his hands tight on Jason’s body. “Me neither,” he admits as an afterthought.

Jason’s eyes bulge out of his head, “You… what?”

Bruce eyes Jason, probably trying to see if Jason’s messing with him, but the sincere shock Jason wears on his face is enough to get Bruce to shrug one of his shoulders. “No one else seemed important.”

Jason’s hips arch up, his body so aroused by Bruce fucking _only him_. Good god. “Oh, fuck,” Jason says. He runs a hand over his face, he knows he’s beet red from blushing.

“Don’t cover it up,” Bruce breathes out and he runs a hand down Jason’s chest. “I wanna see it. I wanna see your blush. Show me how much this means to you.”

“F – Fuck,” Jason’s voice cracks, his breathing getting harder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, old man.”

Bruce grins.

Jason studies Bruce’s movements again, and he grunts every time Bruce fucks him. Jason moves his legs from Bruce’s shoulders and wraps them around his waist, and in a few quick movements, pins Bruce under him.

“I want to ride you,” Jason says, pushing himself back down onto Bruce cock.

“Be my guest,” Bruce breathes out, smirking. Jason runs his hands over the patchwork of scars on Bruce’s body, until he gets to the mangled one on Bruce’s shoulder. He feels Bruce tense imperceptibly beneath him, before relaxing.

“That’s from –“

“Yes.”

Silence. They don’t say much of anything, still lost in thought.

“I tried to – I really, I tried to –“

“I know, Bruce.” And Jason eyes him thoughtfully.

Jason braces his hands on Bruce’s chest and pushes himself up, the burn and slide of Bruce’s thick cock like fireworks inside him. He finds his prostate and fucks himself hard down on it, the wind being knocked out of his body as he bounces himself hard and fast on Bruce’s lap.

Bruce thrusts up, meeting every one of Jason’s downward movements, creating a delicious and fiery wave of pleasure inside Jason’s body. Jason reaches for his cock, to try and get himself off, but Bruce knocks his hand out of the way.

“Come just from my cock,” Bruce says, a challenge in his voice, “you can do it, Jason. Be my _good boy_.”

Jason throws his head back, his legs tensing around Bruce’s thighs as he continues to fuck himself.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Bruce says, his hands brushing Jason’s hair out of his face, “so beautiful, bouncing on my cock, you’re so good at taking it, so good at _pleasing_ me.”

Jason feels his cheeks heat up at the praise and he moans so loudly and so wantonly, he’d be afraid of the others hearing if he didn’t know that the Manor was entirely empty tonight except for the two of them.

“Choke me,” Jason breathes out, the red on his cheeks now permanent. “Come on, do it.”

Bruce smiles and grabs Jason by the shoulders, flipping them over once again. He rests his hand against Jason’s neck, fingers running over the bite marks he left earlier.

“Tap my shoulder if you want me to stop,” Bruce reminds him. He caresses Jason’s scar once before, before pushing back inside Jason’s body again. He fucks him deep and hard, immediately going back and hitting Jason’s prostate again and again, Jason whining with the pleasure.

Jason nods at Bruce and he starts squeezing Jason’s neck ever so slightly, Jason’s air supply slowly going out with each move of Bruce’s fingers. Bruce continues to fuck Jason, over and over. Jason pulls Bruce’s hair and listens to Bruce’s moans, the sounds Bruce makes egging Jason closer and closer to his release.

Bruce’s hand around his neck gets tighter, and Jason starts to see stars in his eyes, the continual pressure of Bruce’s cock against his prostate sends Jason into a spiral, and the combination of them both is putting him into the best state imaginable.

“Come for me,” Bruce whispers into Jason’s ear, voice rough, gravelly, and barely audible. “I’ll take care of you, Jason. You’re _mine._ Be a good boy, and come for _me_.”

Jason closes his eyes and shouts, his body snapping like a tightly coiled spring. His toes curl and his knees give out, feeling like jelly against the mattress as the world goes black.

He regains feeling in his body in stages, first his legs, his torso, and then his arms. He opens his eyes slowly, body still tingling all over, like he’s a live wire. Bruce hovers over him, his body weight resting on top of Jason.

“I blacked out there,” Jason says, his eyes trained on Bruce.

Bruce tries to hold back a laugh, “I’m not such an ‘old man’ now, am I?”

And suddenly the claustrophobic tension that Jason could feel building in his periphery is gone.

“No I guess not.”

“Wow, you say ‘sorry’ and tell me I’m right? Who are you?”

Jason pushes Bruce off of him and rolls on top of his body. It’s a minute before he realizes –

“You didn’t get off yet.”

Bruce looks away, “It doesn’t seem so important.”

“It is to me.” Jason holds fire in his eyes. He looks at Bruce, smirks, he knows exactly what to say. Jason rolls over onto his back.

“Come on me,” he says. “On my scar.”

Bruce lets out a loud exhale. “Jason –“

“I know you want to. Don’t lie. Now come on. I want you to. Let me see it.”

Bruce tilts his head towards Jason and studies his face. “I want to.”

“I know, now come on, do it. I’m not getting younger and neither are you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and rolls on top of Jason to straddle him, leaning back against his legs so he’s over Jason’s body.

“Come all over me, fucking mark me, Bruce. Fucking come on me.”

“Jesus,” Bruce breathes, as he takes hold of his cock, “Jason you are something else entirely.”

Jason continues talking, eyes fixated on Bruce jacking his own cock. He watches the way Bruce’s thick hands slide over the head, watches how he pinches his balls and gets a whine out of himself. Jason pulls Bruce’s hand over to his mouth and licks his palm.

“Come on, Bruce, daddy, whatever you wanna hear,” Jason sucks one of Bruce’s fingers into his mouth before releasing it from his grasp. “I wanna _see._ ”

Bruce looks at Jason with hooded, lust filled eyes and gets back to it, working his hand faster and harder over his own cock.

Jason is mesmerized by the way Bruce moves, by the thickness of his body, the taut muscle in his thighs, the sheer power those hands hold. Jason watches and watches and studies this side of Bruce, the imperceptible – the vulnerable, the Bruce that lies behind the masks and the shells. The one who lets him _see_ , the Bruce who doesn’t hide in the shadows.

The Bruce who fucks him like Jason means something, like Jason isn’t just some reformed street rat turned failed sidekick, like he isn’t some reborn ghost turned failed mercenary. Like he isn’t just someone who Bruce feels _sorry_ for.

Like he’s the Bruce who has Jason at the center of his universe.

“I love you,” Jason blurts out, and feels his cheeks redden the moment the unintended words drop out of his lips.

“Fuck,” Bruce grunts and comes all over Jason’s autopsy scar. “Shit, Jason, I’m –“

“That was hot,” Jason says, and he knows his face is still burning, knows he’s too relaxed and vulnerable now that he’s said that, and he waits for the joke, waits for Bruce to say something that will inevitably slice through the tension, that will send them back into _business as usual_ –

But the joke never comes.

Jason, who’s avoided Bruce’s eyes the entire time after saying it, looks at Bruce’s face. And it’s almost a parallel, really, to when he asked Bruce if he ever fucked the others, and Bruce had this look of _shock_ on his face, like he couldn’t believe the thought would ever occur to Jason, like he wonders how Jason could ever think –

“Do you,” Bruce clears his throat, looks away for a second before looking back, “do you… mean that?”

And it’s the reverence in the tone maybe, that tells Jason all he needs to know.

It’s how everything clicks into place, how the past three months of this… relationship have come to manifest to more than just fucking in the shadows, how this is a buildup of emotions over the past four years, or maybe, in some way, even longer. Maybe in a way for him, all the way back to those far away days as Robin, when all he wanted to do was make Bruce proud of him.

When all he wanted was Bruce to _love_ him, too.

Jason looks at Bruce once more and knows that – if it was any other time, he could lie and get away with it. In fact, maybe he could lie right now and still escape scot-free, but the repercussions to this relationship, to the tenuous hold Jason has on the one thing keeping him grounded, would disappear in a puff of his two day old cigarette smoke.

He can’t lie to Bruce’s face about this, right now, and be at peace with himself.

“Y – Yeah,” Jason feels his throat close up, “I… I meant what I said.”

Jason has seen Bruce smile before. The quick upturn of the corner of his lip, the full smile of his mouth when he’s exceptionally proud, the short grin with a nod before he closes up meetings.

But this.

This smile could outlive the sun.

Bruce’s entire face lights up, like a child on Christmas, his eyes sparkling like winter lights, his teeth bright like the first fall of snow.

And Jason doesn’t ever want it to end. He breathes a sigh of relief, that somehow, he has gotten this lucky.

Bruce lays on top of him, the mess between them sticky but forgotten, and pulls Jason close.

“I thought you would lie,” Bruce says into Jason’s neck.

“I was going to,” Jason says, and apparently this is a time for whole truths, unmarred by past mistakes or masks. “But I… I just couldn’t. I couldn’t look at you, like that, and just lie. Not when you – not when I…”

“I get it,” Bruce says, pulling Jason close. He kisses the top of Jason’s head and smiles against his hair.

Jason rolls into Bruce’s embrace, his hand covering over Bruce’s scar from the fire. Bruce runs his hands through Jason’s hair, soothingly. Jason exhales and stifles out a yawn.

“I should – I should probably –” He stumbles out, unsure of what to say.

“You should stay.” Bruce says, in that _voice_ , the one that haunts every waking moment of Jason’s life. He should be angry, that Bruce would command him, but instead, Jason has never felt better. He has never felt warmer.

“I… I should,” Jason breathes out, letting the warm embrace of Bruce’s body envelope him. He curls himself up inside Bruce’s space, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex that clings so tightly to Bruce.

They stay like that, for a long time, both too wired with emotions to go to sleep, yet too tired to do much of anything else. Jason falls into an in-between state, the sound of Bruce’s breathing, and the feeling of Bruce’s hands on his scalp pulling him into a meditative state of consciousness.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bruce says, pulling the blanket back. He drags Jason out of the bed softly, his hands so tender, as they make their way into the bathroom. Bruce turns on the hot water of the bathtub and Jason watches it fill up as Bruce goes to get soaps. He watches as Bruce throws something into the tub, and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Bath bombs,” Bruce answers, like that somehow explains everything.

“Bath…bombs?” Jason asks, stepping into the tub at Bruce’s prodding.

“Damian’s obsessed,” Bruce responds, “and… maybe I am too, a little.”

Jason gives Bruce a look.

“What can I say? Maybe I enjoy smelling like a ‘fruit bomb explosion’ every once in a while.”

Jason snorts and settles in the tub, back against Bruce’s chest. The water is soapy, and bright pink, and the air smells like watermelons.

They stay comfortable in the silence of the bathroom, and Jason turns around to wash Bruce’s hair. Bruce smiles at him again and Jason’s soul light up, as Bruce grabs the shampoo to return the favor. Bruce looks at Jason, his eyes holding and reflecting so many unnamed emotions, so many catalysts that Jason dare not bring up.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Bruce says, as he gently towels Jason off. He unplugs the tub and they watch as the colorful water spins down the drain. Jason studies Bruce’s face in the bright lights of the bathroom, and grabs his hand as they walk back out into the bedroom. He squeezes Bruce’s hand and he turns to face him, Bruce once again illuminated by the moonlight.

But this time, he doesn’t seem so far out of reach, doesn’t seem too distance for Jason to reach out and pull Bruce so tight to his chest, the smell of his minty shampoo permeating all of Jason’s senses.

_Home._

“I’m glad to be home too,” Jason breathes out, and this time, he means it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to jean, kyla, mads, lizzie, and al for being my cheerleaders xoxo love u fools


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